


wipe

by tsonis



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: (banging fist on table) EAT ROBOT PUSSY NOW, F/F, exploring the darker side of my fo4 character tbh, ft. me getting uncreative w/ synth names, idk if this counts as dub-con considering she wipes each unsuccessful copy, she just really misses her wife and is driven mad by grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsonis/pseuds/tsonis
Summary: She is unstoppable, really, the prime specimen that every courser should aspire to be. V5-35 is tied down to her bed, silk ties affixed around ankle and wrists, and it is the image of a machine so powerful rendered as weak as a kitten underneath her that makes her so incredibly wet.





	wipe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remris/gifts).



> going through a backlog of all my writing (most of it fallout 4 kmeme stuff) and posting it all bit by bit. still working on howl + another ow project, don't worry. this is pretty dark not gonna lie.
> 
> side note for confused: V5-XX reference it being her spouse (jane) and subsequent copies that get wiped/destroyed in missions or when she starts to realise too much. m7-97 is reference to g-d knows who honestly (wrote it so long ago i have no dang clue)

Coursers, Father—Shaun—had said, were nothing but tools to carry out tasks on the surface; ones that were too dangerous or too trivial for the great minds below to complete themselves. And of course, the sexist values of the pre-war era were carried over in post-nuclear America in that all the coursers the Institute had were men. Or at least designed to be male-presenting. 

It wasn’t that the coursers themselves weren’t unattractive—in all honesty, whoever was in charge of sculpting their human facades deserved some serious accolades—it was just they were the wrong look for her. She had always pictured herself shacking up with some lady synth at the end of the day, especially a courser; they had the right balance of strength and control that hummed just beneath their skin, or maybe that hum was just their motor running.

So, when she overthrew Shaun, ignoring the look of utter betrayal and shock in her son’s eyes, her first ruling as Mother was to stop the production of male-presenting coursers and start the production of female-presenting ones. 

It was like a fever dream as she watched her pet project come together, the synths had thick, burly muscles, held under synthetic skin that was pulled almost too tight over them. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t spent many a night re-watching the footage of their training, watching each methodical push and pull of their muscles to complete tasks to test their physical and processor strength.

Somewhere along the way, the line between their humanity and their obvious robotics blended into one, seamless being. Much to the fear of the scientists under her iron fist, Mother made frequent rounds amongst the new coursers, looking upon them almost like a doting parent would.

\--

“May I come in, Mother?” X6-88 asked, gloved hand already poised to open the door when she gave the command.

“Of course, X6-88.”

The door opened with a soft, hydraulic hiss before silently shutting behind him. “I have a report on the probe of the Prydwen crash site.” His eyes narrowed at the flush that was rising high on her cheeks, she hadn’t said anything about having a fever. “Are you alright, Mother?”

“Of course, thank you for your concern.” Her voice was soft and melodic, it pleases his sensors to register her voice. “Was there anything unusual I should send the Night Witches after?”

X6-88 would scowl at her if she were any other person; ever since Mother had ordered their creation, she had practically put other coursers out of commission. “No. There were, however, a few Institute synth exoskeletons that were found and recovered.”

“I would call that unusual, wouldn’t you X6-88?”

“Seeing as how you were the one to order the recall on M7-97, I would say you already knew about the existence of synths in their ranks.”

“Of course,” Mother murmured, leaning forward dangerously; as she did so, a heavy thunk sounded from underneath her desk. “Thank you X6-88, you are dismissed for now. Seek repairs if you need them and I will call you later.”

He nodded stiffly before taken his leave, and hoped that the moan she let out was just a minor auditory malfunction.

\--

It is with bated breath—or as close as a synth could get—that V5-34 waits for Mother’s command; her creator, her everything looks at her with such open love that it pulls at her wiring. Mother runs a hand over her face, and V5-34 spares a thought at just how lifelike they have made her feel and look. Sometimes, she stares into the mirror when Mother has the rare occasions of uninterrupted sleep; her hands roam her body, testing and pushing at various intervals, and she herself cannot even tell she is a machine.

“How was your mission,” Mother rumbles, hand settle at the dip of her cheek. 

V5-34 whirs softly, body allowing the arousal reactions to take place. “Fine, M7-97 showed some resistance when we returned and presented him with the other exoskeletons. He seems to grasp on to some memory still.”

“I’ll have to talk Dr. Ayo about if another wipe is even worth it or if we should just scrap him.”

“Sometimes I think you two share a history,” V5-34 admits quietly, lowering her eyes as Mother’s gaze sharpens on her; under her gaze it almost feels like Mother is removing her skin bit by bit. “You seem so fond of him, you would’ve scrapped anyone else by now. Why him?”

Mother purses her lips, nails digging into the synthetic flesh of her cheek, but drops the subject. “You can leave for the night V5-34, close the door on your way out.”

“But Mother—”

“Now, please. I have work I still have to attend.”

If she had a heart, it would have dropped at her tone, but she acquiesces, willing herself to ignore the sounds of Mother speaking with Dr. Ayo over the phone.

Later that night, they come for her. She doesn’t stand a chance.

\--

She is unstoppable, really, the prime specimen that every courser should aspire to be. V5-35 is tied down to her bed, silk ties affixed around ankle and wrists, and it is the image of a machine so powerful rendered as weak as a kitten underneath her that makes her so incredibly wet.

V5-35, or Jane—her wife—as she is modeled after, is arching almost as beautifully as the real thing would. She swiped her tongue, once, twice, and Jane’s hips stutter and grind against her face. 

“C’mon, shit, do it again,” Jane hissed, the sharp tongue turning to lead as the fingers buried in her crook and rub just where she needs them too. “Gimme the electricity, babe.”

Mother smiled, free hand moving to flick on the switch that would send electricity straight into her wiring. Jane’s whole body vibrated in response, motors whirring with the sudden influx of energy, desperately working themselves to return to homeostasis. 

Jane’s frame shudders before the artificial lighting behind her eyes dims. Mother’s lips pull into smile, surveying her work with a sense of pride. 

“You may release yourself from your bonds,” she hums, moving off their bed as Jane’s systems reboots and she snaps the silk ties with an effortless pull of muscle.

Mother spares a glance down at the feel of soft lips against her knuckles, raising a brow as Jane nuzzles her hand. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, anything for you.”

V5-35’s eyes light up, and Mother gently pulls her hand away and returns to her desk. She is a weak point to her, and the honesty behind those words scares her a little; she really would burn the world for even a glimpse of her Jane, whether it be in whatever afterlife she is doomed to, or in V5-35.

What she doesn’t know is that the sentiment is readily returned and has already been done. The world has burned for Mother, and V5-35 will ensure it will once more.


End file.
